Saturday, December 30, 2006

The Golden Touch Pirate Goes to ... Jenna Jameson. According to the Old Gray Lady, the porn star goes out with Tito Ortiz, the ambassador of Ultimate Fighting, which has, of late, garnered good press from "60 Minutes" as well as the venerable Times. Everything Jenna Jameson -- whose MySpace page has astronomical hits -- touches appears to turn to gold. She has, Pun Intended, a "Golden Touch" (One, incidentally, that Jenny McCarthy knows intimately about -- wink, wink).

The Semi-Savage of the Year Goes to .. Steve O, the human pertie-dish. We wrote: "Of Steve O's Fetid BodyJuices. How does one begin? Is the semisavage Steve O even goddamned human? Is he some paleolithic throwback, one of Nature's Hiccoughs? Our favorite feral 'bohunk' is, to be sure, bipedal and in marginal possession of upright posture, but the similarities with the human race stop abruptly there. (Averted Gaze) Sometimes Steve O appears to be a member of our species -- however provisional that membership -- and then he'll go and do something like ... whip out his 'junk,' draw everyone's attention to his shortcomings, then urinate freely all over the red carpet. Animale! (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment) He is ... an enigma. From those intrepid Page Sixxies:

"Earlier that night at Key Club, 'Jackass' jerk Steve-O jumped onstage and shattered a light bulb on his shaved head, opening a nasty gash that gushed blood all over him. 'He just laughed and rubbed it all over his face,' said our spy. 'The scary part is it didn't stop a bunch of hot chicks from grabbing him and hitting on him when he got off the stage.'"

Coochie of the Year Pirate Goes to ... Lindsay Lohan, or, as we like to call her here, LiLo (So very lo, indeed, in a land where the "beef curtains" match the drapes). Call us "old fashioned nani purists," sticklers -- coochie curmudgeons, if you will (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment)-- but we abhor the utter ubiquity of Britney and Paris' leathery "beef curtains (Eew)." Rather, we'll go in for the less publicity hungry "firecrotch" every time. We'll see you in our dreams.

Comeback of the Year Pirate Goeth to ... Judas Iscariot. Hey, Jude: You're the Comeback Kid. According to new Biblical archaeological evidence, Judas Iscariot was not the blind will of evil he was always portrayed as, but, rather, he was a conscious player in the dramatic tragedy of the Last Supper, the Passion Play. This raises all sorts of intriguing questions about the role of "consciousness" in Early Christianity. It complexifies the religion into a rarified philosophical sphere way out of the shitty little precincts of those small-minded Evangelical Asses. We wrote: "Perfectly timed between the liberation of 'The DaVinci Code' from questions of plagerism and the Holy Week's annual Christianity covers of the newsweeklies is the re-evaluation of Judas Iscariot. There is a tradition that always held the belief that Judas Iscariot turned Jesus over to the Romans in an act of obedience. According to the Old Gray Lady:

"The Gospel of Judas is only the latest crumbling parchment to surface in the sands of Egypt like an ancient time capsule. Even before its formal introduction at a National Geographic Society news conference yesterday, scholars have been part of a debate that will soon be echoing in churches, on the Web and in Christian publishing.

"The real debate is whether the text says anything historically legitimate about Jesus and Judas.

"Some of the scholars on National Geographic's advisory committee said the text should prompt a reassessment of Judas. In it, Jesus speaks privately to Judas, telling him he will share with Judas alone 'the mysteries of the kingdom.' Jesus asks Judas to turn him over to the Roman authorities so that his body can be sacrificed."

Strangest Coupling of the Year Pirate Goes to David Spade and Heather Locklear. Did we dream this shit up? It seems, in retrospect, too odd to be true. Yes, after a rough divorce we could ostensibly imagine a model-hott (though reptilian eyed) lady going out with a man thoroughly in need of a robust multivitamin, if only for the ego-boosting constant adoration. Still ... We wrote: "During his significant run at SNL the marginally witty David Spade was legendary for parlaying his celebrity into saucy sex with women way beyond his pay grade (Kristy Swanson and Lara Flynn Boyle, whose nickname for Spade was "peanut"). In point of fact, the virtually unfuckable Bea Arthur is way out of David Spade's league.

"So it stunned us to no end to hear that Spade is now canoodling with superhott MILF Heather Fucking Locklear. According to Rush and Molloy, who write:

"David Spade was 'full-on making out' with Heather Locklear at Jones restaurant in Los Angeles last week, reports In Touch. 'It was a friendship that turned into something more,' a source told Us Weekly, adding that Spade's nerdy humor is helping her get over Richie Sambora. ..."

Wednesday, December 27, 2006

The "Why Does It Hurt When I Pee" Pirate Goes to -- Who Else? -- Paris Hilton. The less said about this award, the better. One word, though: Penicilin.

That "Disgusting Voodoo" Pirate Award (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment): David Croneneberg. Even just mentioning the name "Cronenberg" fucks our whole shit up just a teeny bit because -- really -- Who wants to go around mucking about in that directors moist and fetid Cronenbergian consciousness. And revenge, to Cronenberg, is a dish best ... served ... cold ... As Paul Haggis found out. We wrote: "We have no doubt that Paul Haggis' sanguinary mishhap has the signature of his directorial nemesis the ultra-creepy David Cronenberg behind it (The Corsair shudders). Who else but the man who all but threatened Haggis with grievous bodily harm over the stealing the title of the film 'Crash' could have a hand -- however veiled -- in this thusness. According to Liz:

"CRASH! That is the title of perhaps the most thought-provoking film nominated for Best Picture. It is also the sound made when the director of 'Crash,' Paul Haggis, walked through a glass door at the Beverly Hilton Hotel the other day. He had been talking to fans and well-wishers and didn't realize where he was headed. Although dripping blood from a gash in his forehead, Haggis did not cancel his taping of AMC's 'Sunday Morning Shootout,' which is a lively round-table discussion.

"Haggis dashed to his doctor, got stitched up, and sat down like a trouper with the show's hosts Peter Guber and Peter Bart, bandaged but articulate. This edition of 'Sunday Morning Shoot Out' airs Feb. 26 at 11 a.m."

Somewhere -- someplace -- dank and fetid David Cronenberg is twisting his very own Paul Haggis disgusting voodoo doll (tm), legs akimbo, rocking himself back and forth in rhythm with the rolling tides of black water hugging the hazy shore.

The That's Fukcing Disgusting, Yo Pirate Goeth to ... Vincent Gallo. Who else? There is nothing wrong with Vincent Gallo that a crisp right-cross to the short ribs couldn't remedy. We said: "Scuzzy, feral former model -- and lover of underage starlets -- Vincent Gallo is off the market at eBay. Gallo, who tried selling his seed -- eew -- and then, afterwards, lowered himself -- double eew -- to the fetid rank of manwhore, is at present off the market. It is, evidently, against the rules to solicit 'low-grade piece of ass' on eBay. (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment)

"An eBay auction offering a night with actor/director VINCENT GALLO has been withdrawn from the website, because it breaches their rules on selling sex. The vendor, claiming to be the 43-year-old BROWN BUNNY film-maker himself, offered a night of passion for the sum of $50,000 (GBP27,800)."

"Chloe Sevigny evidently liked the cut of Vincent's 'jib'( hence, the blowjob); but, then again, her taste-making abilities haven't been the same since Andre Leon Talley quietly subtracted himself from the Sevigny buzz-o-matic calculus that was in full-effect a year back when she was 'It.'" (Averted Gaze)

(image via ppionline)

Political Player of the Year: Rahm Emanuel. The former Ballet dancer acquited himself well this year. Granted, Senator Chuck Schumer got all the glory on the post-election day press conference. But you and The Corsair saw Schumer on Meet The Press pre-election show. He wasn't nearly as poised and sure as Rahm-bo. Rahm, unlike Chuck, didn't need Virginia or Missouri to score the victory. Not only did Rahm-bo win back the House, but he put in place a strategy -- run Gulf War veterans -- that may have secured the Nastional Security vote to the Democrats, a segment of the elctorate that had all bu been ceded to the GOP.

And not only that, but Rahm -- against type -- defeated his hyper-aggressive impulses and turned down the number 3 position in the House -- a position he well-deserved -- to allow the Congressional Black causus to get their fill of the booty.

Well done, Rahm. We kid you, but you did us proud.

The Skeevey-Ass Thatch of Chest Hair Pirate Goes to: Tom Ford. After the former mannequin fucker stating publicly at the end of 2005 that he wanted to tart up Hollywood powerplayer Dakota Fanning, Tom Ford blazed into 2006 like gangbusters. Gangbusters with a visible thatch of pubic chest hair (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment). Says Graydon Carter in VF:

"I should have known that inviting Tom Ford to oversee this year's Hollywood Issue would create a chorus of office lore many octaves higher than the shrill solos that form the usual monthly soundtrack. If I could boil the Tom Ford experience down to a single element for you, it would be the yellow Post-It note I found stuck to a photograph of Angelina Jolie that was pinned to the wall of Vanity Fair's planning room. In small handwriting were the words 'Leave in butt crack. TF.'"

From the NYPost:

"'Three girls in a bed is a bed full of girls. Two girls on a bed are lesbians.' At the end of the shoot Annie (Leibovitz) said,'Can you slip yourself in there?' said Ford, who did just that."

Why would Annie Leibovitz, of all people, object to a Sapphic photo? Hmm?

Fashionista Fisticuffs of the Year: Diane Von Furstenberg Versus Joseph Abboud. Although it ultimately amounted to naught else but an Abboudian ass-whipping, it was an interesting popularity contest for the CFDA Presidency. Said Kim Hasteriter on the day of the voting at Papermag:

"Today is the day that the CFDA will elect a new president and the battle for the top position is heated. Its the glamorous Diane Von Furstenburg who is running against menswear designer Joseph Abboud for the top spot. At noon today, the council will meet up at the Conde Nast offices to cast their vote. Of course in my opinion this is a no brainer that Diane Von Furstenberg should be elected to this position. Mr. Abboud may have alot of time to dedicate to working on the CFDA...maybe more than Diane does, but Diane has a huge glamour and money connection factor that could really elevate the CFDA from an administrative fashion organization back into being a true industry player that will ultimately help American fashion globally."

The NBC Seriously Fucked Up Pirate Goes To: Anyone Who Was Behind That Goddam "Joey" Fiasco. Granted, Matt LeBlanc is not an ass. But Seriously, what the fuck was Zucker thinking? Matt Leblanc carrying a Must See Thursdays? And what about that bizarre apology involving the stripper (That, ultimately, wasn't enough to save his marriage)We wrote:"NBC's insidious sitcom Joey was an embarrassment -- for NBC, for the writers, for Matt LeBlanc, and most importantly of all for you and me. It stank tremendously but there are matters of money and what the Japanese like to call "face" involved. Apparently this is the reason why the show is in this bizarre stasis-limbo where everyone knows that it is essentially cancelled, but no one is actually out and out saying so.

"But we cannot envision a situation in which Joey is picked up for another season. NBC doesn't have the necessary fumigation in place for that stinkbomb. This item from Popbitch:

"'Last Friday was the final recording of Joey, NBC's disastrous Friends spin-off. Matt LeBlanc is not happy about it ending. There was a sign hanging on his dressing room door all night, saying 'NBC fucked up,' and at the wrap party Matt was seen going up to the executive responsible for re-commissioning the show asking, 'Why do you hate me?'"

Tuesday, December 26, 2006

Another Year's End, dear readers (The Corsair sips, Auld Lang Synish, with a touch of romantic melancholy, a Chateauneuf du Pape 1999). For the third year and running we present you with The 2006 Corsair Pirate Year End Awards (Part I; the rest, my dears, as the week unfolds ... stay with this blog). Every blogger worth their salt has year end awards and 'this thing of ours' is no goddam different. It's in the kool aid that we all drink from. 'Tis the season to be snarky, and all that jazz (sorry Cindy Adams, that's jazz, not your annoying little lapdog Fucking Jazzy). So, without further ado, The Corsair presents The Pirates -- more credible than the Golden Globes, and able to leap tall Publicists in a single bound -- my 2006 year end awards. Basta!

Blackface without the Blackface: The Pirate Goes to VH1's Flavor of Love. The normally respectable pop-cultural receptacle known as VH1 kind of fucked up our "mellow" this year by going ferociously blackface ("I ... aint ... bother ... no ... body"), depicting African-Americans in the worst possible light for the highest possible ratings. We wrote: " ... VH1's top rated hit: 'Flavor of Love' is a modern-day Stepin Fetchit without the sophistication. It's time to pull the plug, ratings or not. While, yes, there was some charm in the original, ehr, 'romance (Averted Gaze),' between 'Gitte Nielson and Flavor Flav, all such train-wreckish warmth has goine frigid. Says, in Sunday Styles, Lola Ogunnaike:

"'I’m the king of VH1,' he crowed over a surf-and-turf dinner at a soul food restaurant in downtown Los Angeles. 'Your man Flavor Flav is doing his thiiiiing.'

"... The women, who tend to look like castoffs from a bad rap video, dress provocatively (the shorter the skirt, the lower the neckline, the better their chances), engage in raunchy make-out sessions with Flav and, when given the opportunity, profess their undying devotion.

"'You could be across the room and I can feel you,' Krazy, the rare white face on the show, said in a recent episode. (Flav, whose real name is William Drayton, has trouble remembering the contestants’ real names, so he gives them nicknames like Deelishis, Toastee and Bootz.) 'My heart is so big and I’m such a compassionate person and I see the same thing in you.' Krazy then broke into song. 'I will be with you forever,' she crooned — off key."

Where in the World is Paris Hilton's DNA Award? The Corsair goes to ... Harden Jamison's Cab. Paris Hilton left her own specially detailed chromosomal forget-me-nots (Averted Gaze) all over the place this year, but none more memorable than a cab. We reported in January, "Paris Pisses. What kind of a nation is it? If you're Paris Hilton, it's a a urination. From TheSuperficial (via ohnotheydidnt):

"'Paris Hilton's publicists are trying to silence a Hawaiian taxi-driver who claims the socialite urinated in his cab.

"'Harden Jamison tells American tabloid National Enquirer the hotel heiress and Simple Life star was too drunk to notice she'd wet herself when he picked her and boyfriend Stavros Niarchos up after a party on Maui."

"(A visibly disgusted look) Aww, man ...

"'The disgusted cab driver claims he mopped up the mess with a towel and plans to use Hilton's own DNA as evidence against her.'"

Classes to the Masses Pirate: Isaac Mizrahi. Isaac Mizrahi, the saucy-tonged fashionista who spearheaded "Cheap Chic," or, high-end designer labels being sold to "the masses" took a particular shine to ScarJo's very own "masses" at the -- irony of ironies! -- "Golden Globes."

It's Deja Vu All Over Again Pirate: Goes to -- Trent Lott. It is perhaps testament to the Hermeneutical Fallenness of the Republican Party that it has been forced to return to the thimble-deep well of Trent Lott's legislative achievement in his restoration to power as Senate Minority Whip. As we wrote: "Senator Trent Lott disgraced himself in 2003 when he praised the senile old fossil and ex-Dixiecrat Strom Thurmond's past Presidential run as a steadfast segregationist (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment). Afterwards, it was discovered that Lott also hid an even more unsavory past back when he attended Ole Miss. (Averted Gaze)

"Since then, Lott has strenuously used his seniority and cultivated alliances to try to resurrect his fallen legacy in the chamber of the United States Senate. Pragmatically -- and cynically -- speaking, a chastised Lott, running against history, has proven spectacularly useful to African-Americans, especially in the impoverished and unchampioned sectors of Mississippi where his imaginative use of Pork has been most appreciated. In that sense, there has been a tacit forgiveness extended to Trent Lott for sins past and, to be frank, pork barrel legislation present."

The Chicks with Dicks Pirate Goes to ... Who Else: Janice DICKinson. (Show us your cock, Janice. We wrote: "That Janice Dickinson, who once caught Warren Beatty staring at himself in the mirror post-fuck, is outrageous is a given. We were, however, rather stunned to hear that she was given a slot on Oxygen (fuck it, Janice -- sotto voce-- fuck it), which, so far as we can tell, is a channel sort of Oprah-ish in its feminism. W-to the T- to the F; nothing about Janice suggests feminism. And Janice -- god bless her manic soul -- is not allusive of Oprah's Angels. She strikes us, oftentimes, as more of a Trannie Devil. (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment)Show us your cock, Janice.

Crib of the Year: Whitney Houston's Drugden. Stripper Pole? Hell-to-the-No, cornbread. Iced-Out Bathgroom? No --sotto voce -- none of that for Whitney Houston, who, this year hit rock bottom. Crackrock Bottom!, that is. According to That Nattie Enquirer:

"This shocking scene of sleazy mayhem is damning proof of Whitney Houston's tragic addiction — to crack. The National Enquirer's sensational exclusive photo (in this week's issue) shows the superstar singer's private bathroom after she has locked herself away for days on yet another self-destructive binge. Amid the trash, leftover food and empty beer cans are the tools of the hardcore drug fiend — pipes, rolling papers, spoons in which powdered cocaine is cooked into crack, lighters."

Intellectual Brawl of the Year? Hands Down: Fukuyama Versus Krautahammer. The sexual tension lasciviously sublimated into the purple prose of Realpolitik (Eew) was naught else but captivating shit, fa real, nah mean? Fukuyama -- That Wilsonian Realist, took on Krauthammer, That Neoconnie Rascal. We wrote then: "Do the Letters Pages in Commentary and Foreign Affairs get your panties all up-in-a-twist? Do you celebrate the anniversary of The Peace of Westphalia? Is the publication of John Lewis Gaddis' "Cold War" news to be received with grateful tears of mirth?

"If any of these things are so -- play along with us, here -- then the latest news of the bareknuckled intellectual brawl between Charles 'The Hammer' Krauthammer (boo! On the corner to the Right), and Francis 'End Of History' Fukuyama (Yaay! In the corner of the center-Left), spilling out of the halls of The Council on Foreign Relations (Yes, That's Walter Russell Meade offering to hold Fukuyama's jacket while reciting Marquis of Queensbury Rules), and onto the only marginally less obscure "Letters" page of the New York Times Book Review tomorrow is hott. Icy Hott. Oh, it's on, people; it's on like Gray Poupon, its so on!

Appears to be nestled in a nimbus of dead hookers and lime. (image via (image via sports.tom)

Lowlife of the Year: Definitely Wilmer Vee. Kid Rock, no prize himself, dumped Pam Anderson over -- of all things -- "Borat." Bad, yes, but no one stunk things up more than Our Wilmer Valderrame, who "rated" his sexual conquests on the Howard Stern Show. We wrote: "Wilmer Valderrama is a classy sort of douchebag. Oily, to be sure, but Top drawer. (Averted Gaze) He kisses and tells, but only on satellite (which, funnily enough, serves our purposes perfectly). On The Howard Stern Show this morning he noted, elegantly and publicly, that Jennifer Love Hewitt -- a woman whom he is rumored to have dated -- was "an 8." (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment) We also learn, among other things, that Hollywood starlets should have better taste than to fuck a guy who reduces them into integers. Some more of Wilmer's more colorful bon mots, via Marksfriggin:

"Wilmer said that his first celebrity date was with Ariana Richards when he was about 17 years old. Howard told him that he's like the Venezuelan John Stamos. Howard asked him if Lindsay's boobs are real. Wilmer said that they are ...

"... Howard read that Wilmer also dated Mandy Moore. After every name that Howard mentioned, Artie would say 'You fucked ___?!' He's nailed a lot of hot chicks from what they can tell. Howard asked him if he got Mandy when he was doing 'That 70's Show.' Wilmer said that the moral of the story is that everyone should get a sitcom because that's how all of this went down.

"... Howard said that he needs about 7 hours to interview this guy. He went through the list of the girls he's dated. He asked him about each girl after mentioning their names...

"Jennifer Love Hewitt - an 8 ... Howard asked Wilmer if he's got a huge penis or something. Wilmer said that he has been blessed. He said he does have a big penis and has more than 8 inches."

Too much information! We're going to stop here, on account of even we have limits. Cosmic limits, to be sure, but limits nonetheless.

We couldn't make this shit up is we even tried. According to the Ap via DrudgiePoo, P Diddy outsources the making of his shitty fashion scams over to China where they have an, uh, inhumane view of man's best friend (to say the least):

"Macy's has pulled from its shelves and its Web site two styles of Sean John hooded jackets, originally advertised as featuring faux fur, after an investigation by the nation's largest animal protection organization concluded that the garments were actually made from a certain species of dog called 'raccoon dog.'

"'First these jackets were falsely advertised as faux fur, and then it turned out that the fur came from a type of dog,' said Wayne Pacelle, president and CEO of the Humane Society of the United States."

Sheesh. The hoddie was a poochie; instead of bling-bling it's "woof, woof"; the t-shirt was a terrier? Oh, dear.

Thursday, December 21, 2006

The Sir Edmund Hillary of social climbing, Charlie Rose retreats from the harsh mountainwinds sets out his provisions and tucks into a conversation with someone who could be useful to his career. (image via nysocialdiary)

Poor Little Greek Boy George Stephanopoulos's ratings for "The Week" are so anemic that it will hereafter be referred to as "The Weak" (image via nysocialdiary)

"VINCENT Gallo is no pal of PayPal. The online payment service abruptly cut ties with the actor-director because it didn't want to be associated with him selling his sexual services and sperm through his Web site. 'They are really fascists. They should breathe some death gas or something,' the star of X-rated flick 'Brown Bunny' told Page Six. For years, Gallo had used PayPal as an intermediary to collect payments from people ordering merchandise over vincentgallo.com, including clothing, posters, artwork and jewelry. But he says PayPal got squeamish at him offering himself to single women and lesbian couples for prices of $50,000-$200,000, and sperm samples for women who want to have his baby for $1 million. "For them to say they have some sort of moral regard for their clients is incredible - they're a penny-pinching, conniving company,' he fumed."

Perhaps the execs at Paypal ought to worry. After all, Gallo did wish cancer on the presently ailing Roger Ebert (which actually happened) after the the critic panned "Brown Bunny" which, among other things, features Chloe Sevigny giving Gallo a blowjob.

Although it seems a week doesn't go by in which Rosie O, the new Newt Gingrich of Morning television, isn't dropping some sort of media cluster bomb on us. This time, however, we totally agree.

There is no question Trump preyed on the supine flesh of Tara Connor -- Miss USA -- for his periodic fix of the media attention crackrock (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment). That's what he does. "The Apprentice" was a sharklike feeding frenzy of Trump snacking on the thumoeideutic excesses of disgustingly ambitious young businessmen and women manquees. Rosie called him out on that, in front of an audience of women, bringing up his decided lack of moral authority. Trump, being the class act that he is (Remember, this man once said of Daryl Hannah who had the brazen audacity to question his wealth that she looked to be "in need of a bath"), disparaged Rosie O'Donnel's weight. From WHAM13:

"Trump fires back, telling People magazine O'Donnell is "a woman out of control" and insisting he would be suing her over her statement questioning his financial well-being.

"He says, 'You can't make false statements. Rosie will rue the words she said. I'll most likely sue her for making those false statements - and it'll be fun. Rosie's a loser. A real loser. I look forward to taking lots of money from my nice fat little Rosie.'"

What's next? Will Trump forthwith hurl a spitball and attach a kick me sign on her back (Averted Gaze)?

And, while we are on the subject, what the fu-u-ck is up with Trump's antiquated use of the royal "Rue"? Is he like some Hanah Barbera villain about to tie Rosie O'Donnell to the railroad tracks? Did he twist his moustache and rub his hands together as he was tying the rope in the universal gesture of Cartoonish Evil and emit a Gargamelian cackle in the process?

Now, in turn, Rosie's getting all "Wikiwikiwikiwiki" on The Trumper on her blog, quoting -- at length -- wikipedia on Trump's bankrupcy.

Wednesday, December 20, 2006

So what the fuck is going on at that supposed YouTube rival that Bill Carter reported on earlier this week that will probably be the subject of his next book. According to Stacy Kramer of Paidcontent:

"The most definitive aspect we can report about the possibility of a major rival to YouTube-Google is this: nothing is definite. Not the participants, not the shape and especially not the creation of a joint venture meshing the economic interests and egos of some of the industry’s major players. One example: no sooner did we confirm the participation of Viacom in discussions than Broadcasting & Cable pops up with a report that Viacom has pulled out. We were also told that CBS is not part of it—although another source familiar with the situation says CBS has been in and out of the mix since the beginning and yet another source says it’s just in with the advent of Quincy Smith; B&C includes CBS in the discussion. Of course, if Viacom zigs, CBS could zag but the content equation isn’t the same. CBS just doesn’t have as much to offer in that regard as Viacom. Disney isn’t involved.

"Another source says at various points since the process began early this year each of the companies has been alternately hot and cold. For News Corp., one of the sticking points has been MySpace.com or, more accurately, the inability to find a solution the MySpace will agree with.

"Then add a major media/tech company into the mix—aka Yahoo or Microsoft, even IAC or AOL. (Time Warner would be interesting given its video assets and the investment it already has in building out AOL’s video strategy.) As one person familiar with some of the thinking behind the concept put it: 'How do you manage that? Who manages that? Who’s strong enough to manage that?'"

"Recently, Francis told me that I had turned him onto wine which, in turn, led to his becoming one of the leading winemakers in the United States. I asked him how I'd made this contribution. 'Remember when we'd go out to lunch and you'd have a glass of wine and so would I though I didn't particularly like it at first? I associated wine with the older guys in the family who always drank red wine out of these Gallo jugs. I thought it was strictly for Italians hung up on the old country. Then you started talking about French wine and I was hooked.'"

As always, Francis Ford Coppola's Weltanshauung begins through the chiroscuroed prism of what The Family dictates and then, after contact with other human beings not named Coppola, slowly Evolves. We love Gore Vidal, for the astonishing scene in Burr when the former Vice President relates how he killed Alexander Hamilton, for 1876, for The Golden Age, for his hysterical dissection of the Commentary Magazine Gang, "The Empire Lovers Strike Back," and for the urbane appearance in Fellini's Roma -- but for inspiring Sophia Coppola's Blanc de Blancs? That, my good man, is unforgivable (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment).

Tuesday, December 19, 2006

McCain, Inc. gathered steam as the only ticket for the GOP in 2008 by adding the sleazy Henry Kissinger. According to National Journal:

"Ex-Sec/State Henry Kissinger has agreed to become an honorary co-chair for Sen. John McCain's presidential campaign in New York, McCain aides said. Along with Kissinger, McCain has won the support of Pete Peterson, a former U.S. ambassador to Vietnam and POW, and John Whitehead, the former Goldman Sachs chair and Reagan admin official.

"Also -- on the eve of ex-NYC mayor Rudy Giuliani's first exploratory committee fundraiser, McCain also unveiled the names of the 57 wealthy and famous donors who've agreed to serve on his NY, CT and NJ finance teams. They include Henry Kravis, a founding partner of the KKR conglomerate, John Lehman, the 9/11 commissioner and ex-Navy sec. and Woody Johnson, the owner of the New York Jets.

"McCain's campaign will not cop to this, but it's fairly clear they want this muscle-flexing to scare uncommitted donors away from signing up with other campaigns."

Who knew that at the late-ass hour in which Ninja's carry out covert assassinations Carson Daly is trying, desperately, to slip into the Conan O'Brien slot as he, in due turn, slips slatternly into Jay Leno's slot (Eew). One good thing, though, about watching the frankenbreasted Tara Reid's former "manbitch" prattle was that Marlon Wayans was a guest. The Wayans family, to be sure, are the Id-personified. And so, instead of leaving rudeness to the moist precincts of his fetid Wayans subconscious (Averted Gaze; insert Wayans body-function joke), Wayans wondered aloud what hath happened to Carson Daly's ass.

Don't we all?

It is now evident that Carson Daly's ass, as well as the rest of him, is concave and further receding into obscurity. He's suffering from Manorexia Nerdosa.

“Barbara Walters was -- and is -- a very sexy babe. When she was at her most intimidating, that's what all the other men missed. All the other newsmen were scared ... of her, and so resentful of her, that they missed the point -- she is a profoundly sensual, very female being with a great body. How can you not look at Barbara Walters and see those great tits?”

Time will tell whether or not Venezuelan strongman Chavez, like Fox News stronglibido Geraldo Rivera, will be moved by Barbara Walters' ... "diablos" (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment). Although Barbara Walters denies to this day that she has Biblical knowledge of Richard Pryor (Paul Mooney told Howard Stern that Pryor wanted him to "take it to the grave"), she may -- according to jossip (link via tvnewser) -- be on the verge of a Latin American coup, so to speak:

"While ailing Fidel Castro has been keeping the press at bay to avoid the off chance they might, like, hint that he's nearly dead, we hear 20/20's Barbara Walters is on her way to scoring an exclusive get with Cuba's leader. Not only that: She's taking Venezuelan president Hugo Chavez along for the ride.

"An insider tells us the ABC queen is set to fly down to Venezuela for a meeting with Chavez and then galavant northeast to the island nation for a sit down with Castro. We checked with a well-placed insider at ABC, who says the plans are moving ahead and that the interviews could take place as early as next week (Christmas time, y'all), but the details are not yet a definite go."

Remember when it was cool to be a McCain supporter? Back before Centrism was all the rage, it was just a few of us in the blogosphere? That was back when McCain was brutally brought low in South Carolina with the Rovish charges of an "illigitimate black baby (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment)." Now, of course, McCain has tacked far right, breaking all our hearts. And now, it seems, with all his talk of "troop surge" -- a move now embraced by the Bushies and decried by Colin "lonely voice in the wilderness" Powell -- McCain looks to be THE Republican Establishment candidate (Even as his archnemesis Karl Rove bids farewell to Presidential politics).

According to our favorite Dickensian villain (Think of the full bodied lips, those impeccably tailored three-piece suits, that single-minded devotion to a capital gains tax cut), Robert Novak:

"Thirty invited corporate representatives and other lobbyists gathered at the Phoenix Park Hotel on Capitol Hill Tuesday to hear two senior mainstream Republican senators pitch the 2008 presidential campaign of Sen. John McCain. They were selling him to establishment Republicans as the establishment's candidate. Nothing could be further from McCain's guerrilla-style presidential run in 2000, which nearly stopped George W. Bush.

"Invitations to Tuesday's event were sent by Trent Lott, the newly elected Senate minority whip. Over coffee, Lott and Sen. Pat Roberts pushed McCain, though neither previously was seen as a McCainiac. They were not for McCain in 2000, and neither were the assembled party activists.

"It is beginning to look like ''McCain, Inc.'' -- that is, party regulars, corporate officials and Washington lawyers and lobbyists moving toward McCain, the man they feared and loathed eight years ago."

Saturday, December 16, 2006

Aren't you sick of all the Africa buzz (The Corsair sips triple distilled Ugandan Waragi)? First there was African Dictator Chic, then adopted babies, blood diamonds, and on and on .... Now, those goddam South African Meerkats, not satified with their Discovery TV deal are branching out in 2 competing Hollywood documentaries (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment). Says the Old Gray Lady:

"Two well-financed documentary films about the foot-long, two-pound natives of South Africa’s Kalahari Desert have gone into production recently, promising just the kind of match that pitted a pair of Truman Capote movies against each other in the past 15 months.

"In September Discovery Films, along with Animal Planet, Oxford Scientific Films and the sales company Southern Star, began shooting an untitled documentary featuring some of the 'Whiskers' meerkat family of the 'Meerkat Manor' television series at home in their Kalahari colony.

"Not to be outdone, the Weinstein Company in New York, along with BBC Films and the BBC Natural History Unit, got busy in November with 'The Meerkats,' a documentary with its own take on the little diggers."

"Recently, the screenwriters Thomas Lennon and Robert Ben Garant had a similar experience with 'Let’s Go to Prison.' They collaborated on the screenplay, but when Mr. Lennon saw the finished film, he said, 'I was flabbergasted because I recognized the entire movie.'

"Mr. Grant added, 'In our heads, a lot of the stuff was exactly like that' — including a prison-cell assault accompanied by the easy-jazz classic 'Feels So Good.'

"'It was one of my most satisfying days in show business,' Mr. Lennon said, 'hearing Chuck Mangione over the rape scene.'"

Considering that at least one of the parties in that unfortunate scene of involuntary man-love will have to "get in touch with his feminine side," The Corsair would have went with Kate Bush's "Wuthering Heights," or, at the very least, a touch of Joni Mitchell.

Wednesday, December 13, 2006

Karl Lagerfeld's Creepy Dakota Fanning Photoshoot

Vanity Fair continues in their charming tradition of astonishingly creepy photoshoots (Exaggerated cough suggesting feigned detachment), this time starring the ponytailed -- and pony tasting -- Karl Lagerfeld with our favorite L'il Mussolini, Dakota Fanning riding shotgun. As previously reported, Tom Ford himself -- who dallies in kissing up on mannequins -- had originally wanted to do the shoot. Lagerfeld did a just marginally less creepy job directing Fanning to look terrified at a realistic-looking stuffed wolf ("Good! Good! Be scared! Perfect! Perfect! Hold the pose!", interspersing English with the curt French, "D'accord."

As the site says, "Dakota Fanning is Hollywood's little princess, with a $3 million paycheck and dibs on every girl role in town. For the January 2007 issue of V.F., Karl Lagerfeld put the 12-year-old Charlotte's Web star in a fairy-tale perspective. Exclusive footage from the Lagerfeld photo shoot."

Charmed, I'm sure (Averted Gaze). We were particularly freaked out by Lagerfeld directing the "wolf" to attack a disturbingly overpoised Fanning, who looks to be 12 going on 47, with a mortgage and a Thalberg at the Academy Awards.

Reason #2,715 why the soul-killing job of Child Stardom is so California evil.